In the Snow
by AmIDelis
Summary: Crossover AU between Last Unicorn and Thor. Based on the Beauty and the Beast myth.


**So this is another take at this dear crack ship of mine. XD I was inspired by all the wonderful Jotun Loki takes I've seen around DA/tumblr (AUs, fics, art…) and this came around. I was also inspired partly by Beauty and the Beast in general while writing this. I wanted something very bittersweet while writing the romance this time.**

**Also, this is a different AU as well. It occurs independently from the other two fics, just saying.**

**Nothing is mine, of course; just a few ideas here and there.**

**With that said, hope you enjoy!**

In the snow

She felt her feet shiver under the pressure of her body, yet she continued to walk towards the iced towers in front of her. She moved her wool blanket over herself to feel warmer, but nothing could make her feel warm here; nothing except a few words and a fight that culminates in abandonment.

Amalthea passed the gates easily; they were open for anyone bold enough to trespass. All the palace seemed empty…No surprises, since Jotunheim was practically in most parts of the continent an empty land, but she heard down at the east many of the remaining Jotuns lived and formed their own colonies…She would have liked to see that. Ever since she was brought here for her marriage, she only wandered around the palace and its lands before she left.

But she knew he had to be here. Where else he had to go? After the last battle he was left alone, and he exiled himself ashamed. Ama didn't know more of him after that, no more than it was known. But he had to be here, for there was no other place where he could feel at home.

The hall, as usual, was empty. All the carved ice stones and the stalactites formed beautiful scenery, but without anyone to contemplate them, it was just a frozen wasteland.

Passing from the Hall she arrived in the Throne Room, wide enough to hold an entire court and garrison, and its tall ceiling held by gigantic carved ice pillars. Near the end of the room stood the throne, sculpted in ivory, resembling a small tower. The design was meant to represent a blend of wildness (the sharp edges curved out all over the chair, resembling the points of swords) and elegance (for all its intents, it did vaguely overall resemble a chess piece). He always sat down on it, as was his duty as king, obviously. Whether it be councils or feasts or judgments or trials, he was bound to sit upon the throne.

She only sat on it once or twice, if she could recall correctly. One was the day she was announced as with child, yes, she remembered that well. The other one she wasn't so sure, had it been at her wedding ceremony or at her coronation? Didn't matter anyway, that was never her place. She had her own throne, meant for the _queen, _but she couldn't find it anywhere near. Had it been removed, hidden or destroyed, Ama did not know.

She found him sitting quietly among a bronze rock, carved resembling a stump, not too far away. She came near to him, intimidated, but he didn't even blink. His thoughts seemed to wander very far from there.

He hadn't changed much, the same stance, the same prideful complex; the same emerald jewels upon his hair, his horns silver, sharp and polished were a menace to any stranger who dared attack. Yet his hair was long, very long, almost it reached his feet, so he had braided some part of it. Ama still saw him showcasing his beloved ornaments demonstrating his position, such as silk robes covering his legs (he'd always prefer the chest bare, only covered by his golden chain collars), fur coats over his shoulders and golden rings and chains on his wrists and ears. Still, what was the point of showing your prides if no one was around to admire it, copy from you, envy you? What was the joy of priding by your own?

She felt she was again falling to his spell, not acting decisively for a while, being slowly seduced by his appearance and (soon) his sweet talk. She clasped a hand of hers, small and white as snow, around his: giant, blue and cold. Only at that he reacted, corresponding at her action and clutching tightly his.

It was in that moment, in those hands holding, that she felt he was again going back to his old ways: his mockery, his bitter words, his leavings, her shivering in the ground, her being afraid, her only watching the dead landscape from her window, the coldness, the solitude, the indifference…Yet it also brought her the talks, the touching, the caressing, the promises…

-You came back. – Were his only words. He did not need to say anymore. It was enough for her to see what he was suggesting, what he might have already imagined in his mind, what perverse thought-provoking possibilities be building inside his head, already filled with enough to rip apart any other being.

As for her? What could she feel? How dare she come here, after abandoning him, the last person in the whole realms he'd expected that would leave him alone at his fate, it was her choice to stay, her choice after they wed, so she had to stay here, Jotunheim was her home. Yet, if it was her choice, then It would be also of her free will to leave. But she had sworn loyalty to him at swearing in the name of his gods and her gods, and she broke the vow so shamefully…No different than him those terrifying nights in which he left her in their room, sobbing, and went to drown his angers by fighting a few ill passers around, and then drinking until forgetting everything.

How many years had he spent there, among ghosts, among harsh reminders of his failures, of all the lives that cost at his expense? He had thought, then, that she was there, too, to mock him, to yell at him, and then remind him how he was a monster since he was born.

Yet, also…He had seen her at times, walking faintly around the pillars, giggling at him, or she was talking about her old kingdom, where life was at every turn and her people were at unity with nature, at least that's what Loki caught, since she also spoke a lot of romanticized gibberish from time to time. But the best memories occurred during the nights, where he stood awake, eyeing his deserted home, and remembering those nights in which she kept him down and he pleasured her until dawn cracked. It wasn't the same with the other Jotun women; even back then at the beginning…Hers and his fuck were the ones that he always enjoyed most, as he shamefully admitted to himself.

He stared at her. There she was, playing the role of an innocent victim again, with her wide doe eyes and tearful face, preparing to sob at any instant. He hated that. He hated that act of hers ever since they met. Perhaps it was accidental, perhaps it was in her nature, but the prince got to know when she used it as an attack against him, to send him guilt and hate towards himself, as if he hadn't had enough. Yet she was sincere, and then he felt his heart ache for her, and tenderly hugged her, to stop her pain, her anger.

Neither of them talked for a few minutes. They just kept their hands together, while they avoided looking at each other, preferring to view the dead scenery of the decayed ice castle. It had never been a proper palace to begin with; always so cold, so lifeless, and so dull.

-I had to. - Was her response, and he caught at a quick glance her cheeks wild red with her reply. Yes, she was showing him her vulnerability again, clever and quick she always was. But he also had a way of deceiving, after all he was a master of lying and cheating himself.

Amalthea caressed her waist, at which it was of enormous size and hidden under many blankets than the rest of her body.

-The child is about to come. - Loki had only known barely about the subject, believing to be a lie, yet her womb couldn't false.

-Our child.

-Yes, our child. - And she smiled at the correction. Not a false smirk, not a shy cover, a rich smile. So that was why she came? To correct him and force him in the role of a…

But he thought…his own children…

-My daughter…or son…- It had to be. Who else could it be? The king of Jotun then stared back and forth at his wife, his red stare shaking, and she sighed, apparently nervous again.

-It is a blessing…I came to tell you.- Ama came closer to him and, after gulping, made contact her head with his.

-And to live with you.

-And not with other men?

-No, do not accuse me of false acts. - She frowned at his suggestion, but then her brow softened. - I was a prisoner here at first, but then it changed…And it was quite exquisite…You are my home now, Loki. - She caressed his hair. He always loved her soft fingers through his hair, and even more petting her hair. It was like touching sewn snow; a unique experience for anyone, even those living amongst the cold all their life.

Loki felt much similarity to her words…A prisoner, he was also one, of his duties, of his failures, of his father, of his marriage…Yet also blessed, as he was the only one to suffer these burdens.

And still, underneath it all, after reflecting, she had been there, in his rage, showing him how the world would mistreat you once your glorious façade drops out. And he stood there in her mourning, proving that even together one always feels solitude.

And yet, in this moment, with these soft hands and softer hair, and between them the warm womb, beating as a small heart…

Loki felt his self filled with a dark hole, getting bigger and bigger and hot liquids pouring all inside him. A scream started echoing inside him but although he couldn't make out the words, it was constant; alarming.

-Don't leave me, please. I need you. - Now he was playing the victim, fantastic. Now the evening would only end in tears.

-Come with us. - was her response, cheery, bright, and hopeful. As if her surroundings, his tears streaming down his face didn't affect her, or they probably did in a very sadistic way. She weighted his head among her hands and gave him a sweet glance:

-Leave this place. Come with us.- now, she repeated the last without any emotion in her voice, but it sounded like an affirmative action to him, as she avoided his tearful glance and watched over the horizon. She seemed bored with that expression, yet the pressure of her strong hands against his face was comforting.

-But Laufey would never…

-Your father would have wanted many things, Loki. But you are your own person aside from his son. And you've done what you did as a son.

Her eyes were shining, or he thought to himself that they did. He passed a finger through her hair as she dried his eyes.

-Do not cry, please. It aches me to see you in pain. - He got near to her. She didn't stop and continued:

-I will stay a few days here, but we are leaving, Loki.

-But, my kingdom…-

-It is but a shadow of what it once was. Do you still like to reign over a graveyard?

-But I am not welcomed…-

-It would be different among us, in Eingard. There is so much to see there. Our child will grow happy there, and safe. I promise you that.-

A safe haven for their blessed union; what more could one ask? Anyone else in his shoes would have agreed, and he felt she was right, he himself wanted to leave with her, carry her in his arms, protecting his family from harm…But, the past still hurt: she could always abandon him again. She would, nothing was certain. Yet seeing her smile, seeing her belly with their child, it made him reconsider.

He hesitated for a moment:

-Yes, we will…But please, stay a few days here. At least, to enjoy the last of Jotunheim.

She smiled, warming every cold centimeter of the castle.

-Yes, yes…I will.- She placed her lips kindly on his, and swallowed a kiss.

Well, for that enough, she could leave and return anytime.


End file.
